Your time is precious.

While cleaning my closet and organizing my bags; I recently stumbled on this card.

I want to tell you about it.

How it’s beautiful; how it’s righteously expressed, yet impossibly true.

All time is precious.

So I’ll try to keep this concise.

Picture an amazing turquoise beach, warm sun rays, a beautiful home, happy family vibes.

Oh. Just a Small hiccup.

My baby catches the flu. Strong fevers, aches and congestion.  Quick clinic stop. 

One month. Add a few weeks. Two months – that’s too long. Why?

Vacay hospital visit.

Blood work. More work needed.

Numbers don’t add up: because cancer was the answer.

How, when and now what?

Darkness. Blankness. Sadness. Plane ride back home. Hospital room. 

Small space. Heavy matters, Plenty questions.

Mandatory Covid quarantine: two weeks long.

No hallway, no gateway, no sane way, there’s no other way.

We weigh – 14 day hostage – room heavy.

Followed by required cancer precautions.

Covid reality on the oncology floor is really: intensely, critically serious.

Because chemotherapy destroys immune systems: cancer patients are protected.isolated.andguarded.

Racks and racks and racks.

Stacks and stacks and stacks.

Of gowns and gowns and gowns. 

and

Masks and masks and masks.

#Gottahaveit

I learned that getting in and out of the hospital: was quite a diligent procedure.

And because my son was extremely sick, any minute spent away from his bedside made me feel uneasy.

Still, two soldiers came to meet with me after the required isolated days.

Just for a few minutes. A short hospital break. 

Ok.

It wasn’t REAL-LY a hospital break as we were still on hospital grounds. 

But standing outside, underneath the sun, a few meters away from one the hospital entrance — was far enough for me.  

Two girlfriends had told me they wanted to see me. Give me a few things and hug.

Quickly. Ok.

I call them soldiers, because that’s exactly what they are.

I’m blessed.

My girlfriends, my mother and my sister: amazing women.

Individually:  these ladies are beautiful, strong, resourceful and strategic machines.

Together: they become a force of commitment, of love and aid.

What I like to call FSS: Full Surround Support.

Anything we needed, at any moment: I could reach out to the group.

Soon enough — one of them: would come through and provide.

Because sleeping on a pull-out chair for six months, spending all day/everyday in the hospital: they really did—carry us through.

A distant cousin, a close friend, my momma bear, another friend, my aunts; my angels: my graces.

I can count on my fingers the times I used the hospital kitchen to actually prepare a meal for my husband or myself.

It was microwave luxury. Gold Shine – bling/bling.

Wait.

That doesn’t sound great. But believe me: a home cooked meal, warmed up in the hospital microwave; is delicious and nutritious. Any day of the week.

I didn’t have the necessities.  Or the time, or the energy or the motivation needed to cook in the kitchen of our department. I had nada but I had: cared made meals.

Hold up. I’m losing track.

So on that specific day: my two friends came.

They handed me some water bottles, containers filled with hearty meals, some needed books and this lovely card. It remained in my linen backpack every hour, everyday, every month.

The whole hospital stay.

Although I knew that no one could actually see my pain; the thought was kind.

How can you see something that’s infinite? That’s so grand?

Impossible.

And truth be told: I didn’t know if I even had the required courage to pull through, or even enough for a little longer.

But this card reminded me that; there is an inner source.

You don’t know me.

But believe me: I trust me.

It’s easy to forget when you walk through a life hurricane. But I hold the truth: I know. 

I’ve been down before, real deep low.

I survived a huge accident/ten plus years ago.

I recall that after weeks in a coma, a month spent in a wheelchair, years of rehabilitation and all along: tormented with dark black thoughts; I had made it through.

And simultaneously: I dealt with a mandatory city move, an important break-up and an all around/life adjustment saga.

With remaining physical pains and a new handicap, somehow — I had made it: and still strived.

Somewhere in there– in me, in you: if we make it gracefully long enough, there’s a source that will lead us elsewhere, eventually. 

I know.

Still, doubts can be overwhelming.

Another hospital trial? How many cycles of chemo? With absolutely no guarantees? I must hold him through how many daily inductions? 

No. I don’t want to and I don’t know much.

It’s not just us, I’m sure.

You are faced with your own questions, your own crazy obstacles; I have no doubt.

I wondered about other families, other griefs, other peace and other children.

It’s all perspective.

While I was grieving through the pains and the struggles after my accident: I remember thinking that it would be easier if this had happened to a family member.

I could forget me. Focus on the outside matter.

Hence: I would have to survive and be strong for them. 

It’s easier to care for someone else. Right?

The tables were now turned.

With no confusion, turns out: that was crazy thinking. Stupid non sense.

It doesn’t get ANY easier. How ignorant had I been to stipulate on any other grief?

All ways of grief, all relationships in grief: always eat you up.

Idealization is a mind trick.

Myself, my child or my momma, my friend or my auntie=All Bad.

The only real trick is: little by little.

That’s the discipline/technique.

So, I was distressed and empty; but I kept going.

As gracefully as I could. 

I know resilience is really: a discipline. Like any great labor: it’s rarely instant.

Discipline is basically, a continual practice. 

Repeat, repeat, repeat. Wait. I can’t walk any more.

Rest.

And then repeat, repeat.

Get up, be kind, pray, drink water, do something that makes me feel a little normal, eat, exercise and pray. Share what I can, sleep….I mean: try to sleep and drink more water.

I felt nothing; but as I folded my sleeping bag every morning and noticed this card; I’d catch a small drift of patience.

For a small moment.

Hence, I couldn’t think too far ahead.

Talk to me about today. Maybe tomorrow.

Next month, when? Nah.

To get through this, I dealt with everyday, one day at a time.  No when, no if’s, no mind.

No stream of light; but I can survive in the dark. 

Somehow: I repeated the same resilient efforts everyday and I made it through.

We made it through.

There were some losses, we’re not the same. 

But we made it standing. Back to cancer free. 

Looking back at my experience; it was more about living every present moment.

So I smiled and played, laughed and sang.

And so he did too, and really we all did.

Everyday. 

Because I didn’t know if I was strong enough. Or what would happen to my son. 

Because I didn’t feel brave, or ready to face this nightmare.

What pushed me through was bigger.  

Greater than my pain, larger than your pain, grander than science, logic and fear.

The biggest source. 

I hear you.

What source now?

This inner force: it’s true you can’t see it – it’s God.

It’s everything and also: it’s in you.